


But they do square

by Petra



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Swap, M/M, Sins of Youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-27
Updated: 2008-05-27
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: Tim supposes that were he a different person, he would find the opportunities afforded by sudden adulthood intriguing.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/gifts).



> For Te, as such things tend to be. Beta read by Sage.

Tim supposes that were he a different person, he would find the opportunities afforded by sudden adulthood intriguing: the chance to legally drink alcohol, perhaps, or to purchase cigarettes without recourse to illegal means. However, his habits being what they are and his tastes not running to such mundane forms of intoxication, the major source of gratification is in driving the Batmobile, which he intends to do as often as possible between now and the time he is disallowed from doing it again.

As to other forms of enjoyment, he finds himself more hampered than otherwise, as well as slightly -- and then profoundly -- disturbed.

It is hardly a crime for a teenager to be interested sexually in other teenagers, but he had trusted that that fascination would wane with time, or at most age with him. Now that he is more than nominally adult -- and Bruce is patently not --

He refuses to allow himself to think the term "pedophilia," because Bruce certainly isn't that young, but there is something distinctly disturbing in the fact that he's more attractive now than he ever has been. Now, when he's without the vast majority of his scars, and wearing entirely the wrong uniform, and angry, oh, so angry.

Bruce looks as though anyone trying to kiss him will cut themselves on his fury at the world, at being forced to relive what were apparently uncomfortable years for him. Tim sympathizes, both on the count of being able to clearly recall exactly how uncomfortable it is to be a teenager, and on the more immediate count of how frustrating it must be to lose control of so poetic, so perfect a vehicle as the one Bruce is watching him drive.

The selfsame vehicle that Tim has to park, however briefly and regretfully, in order to intervene in an assault. "Three," he says. "One with a gun."

He can feel, though not see, Bruce rolling his eyes in aggravation. "I saw."

Whatever Bruce has lost by becoming an adolescent, it is not his grace, nor his training. The split-kick -- Tim had thought it was primarily Dick's trademark due to flexibility, but while it's true that Bruce doesn't achieve the same degree of spread that Dick might under the circumstances, the force behind the blows is enough to take out the two men who did not have their weapons drawn.

Bruce's smile -- fierce and reminiscent in far too many ways of Tim's last scrapbook of photographs -- distracts Tim enough that the man with the gun sees Tim before Tim disarms him. Clumsy, Bruce would say -- and still might, when he is done zipstripping the attackers.

The victim is a woman who is clearly comfortable enough on the streets to believe in Batman and Robin. "Thanks," she says, and dabs at the blood leaking from her nose.

Tim hands her gauze. "Use antiseptic when you get home."

She nods. "I'll be more careful."

Tim glances at Bruce, who has finished his tasks. "That goes without saying."

Bruce only hesitates for a moment before he goes to the right side of the car. Tim can't help smiling as he gets back in and starts the engine. "Nicely done."

Bruce fastens his restraints. "I don't miss being this age."

"I don't miss it either." The lights of Gotham stream past. "Ironic, isn't it, that it is left to those of us who have nothing to gain but immaturity to solve this problem."

The shift in Tim's peripheral vision is Bruce relaxing slightly. "Flexibility, also."

"Think of what you could learn," Tim says, and smiles; it feels like Batman's smile. "Everything you know now, and everything you could gain in the next -- ten years."

"Stolen from you," Bruce says, but he's smiling, too; not a smile Robin should wear, but one Tim feels a kinship with, nevertheless.

Tim pats the steering wheel. "Paid in full. Would you like a receipt?"

Bruce's laugh is as soundless and pained as he has ever sounded. "How would you sign it?"

"That would be something of a dilemma. 'Batman: his mark' is somewhat generic under the circumstances." Tim waves his hand. "To say nothing of the problems inherent in the -- title."

"Your initials, while not unique, are too much of an identifying mark for the purpose. Better than fingerprints, but still." Tim can hear the amusement in Bruce's voice.

It goads on the parts of Tim that should have grown out of their predilections, but haven't. He attempts to focus on the nonsensical conversation, as that is more productive than allowing himself to dwell on problematic desires. "If you burned it afterward, that would obviate the problem."

"And entirely negate its value. No." Bruce stretches in his seat. "I'm not going to take a verbal contract for something of this value, and neither should you."

Tim makes the tactical error of glancing at him. He does not look comfortable, but he looks relaxed and -- vulnerable.

The only way to drive safely is to stop and activate the car's external defenses. "Another assault?" Bruce asks, and at any other point, Tim would worry about his eagerness.

"Of sorts," he says, and unfastens his restraints in order to lean over and kiss Bruce.

Bruce tastes surprisingly unlike broken glass.

He shivers with the force peculiar to aroused teenage boys and squeezes Tim's shoulder with a strength that will almost certainly bruise even through the armor on the Batman uniform.

Bruce turns his head, breaking the kiss. He says, "I want --" and his voice -- breaks.

"What?" Tim asks, and though he apparently will never be a bass, it doesn't matter here and now. He can use a creditable Batman tone and watch Bruce frown when it registers.

"This is unfair," Bruce says.

Tim lets himself laugh. "You have so much to learn."

Bruce doesn't pull the punch to his arm -- that hit will certainly leave a mark -- but neither does he stop Tim from pulling down his tights. "I had more -- control -- than this when I was actually this age," Bruce protests.

"You were more in practice then." Tim kisses him again and he makes a soft noise that sounds more like a plead than anything. "Whereas now --"

"You should have more control than this," Bruce says. The moment Tim touches his erection, his hips buck.

"I can stop whenever I want to." Tim strokes him, watching his thighs tremble with a fruitless attempt to control himself. "You, on the other hand --"

Bruce shakes his head. "I could. Damn it."

"Language, Robin." Tim kisses him again and Bruce bites his lip, laughing.

"I'm certain I deserved that -- nn -- on some level." Bruce thrusts into his fist with more abandon than he allows into his tone. His hands are clenched by his sides. "I -- this is ridiculous -- kiss me again?"

The next kiss makes Bruce whimper in an octave Tim has never heard from him. His thrusts go ragged and he clutches Tim's shoulder, shaking as he orgasms.

"The benefit of being entirely out of control," Tim says, in the best Voice he can muster, "is that it's hardly time-consuming to give you what you want."

"What -- I --" Bruce forces his breath into something like a resting pattern. "I didn't ask for that."

Tim raises his messy gauntlet to his mouth and licks the palm. "You didn't have to."

He can tell that Bruce is staring at his hand, white lenses and all. "Perhaps -- perhaps not."

"We had better get to the rendezvous." Tim takes a cleaning wipe out of his belt -- Bruce's belt -- and wills himself to pretend he is less aroused than he presently feels.

Bruce's smile helps, though only because it dares him to keep going and forget the rendezvous entirely. "Of course -- Batman." He can either accept the dare or the name, but never, never both.

Tim has a dizzying moment trying to decide whether fucking Bruce until he screams is entirely worth the loss of a decade of his life, as well as the lives of his teammates.

The only thing that makes it possible for him to start the engine again is the awareness that Bruce is as unlikely to forget this incident when they are back to their proper ages and sides of the car as Tim is.

Bruce's surprised "Ah" is enough to convince him he made the right decision. When Bruce smiles again and says, "We'll have to continue this later," Tim nearly pulls over again.

But if he did that, Bruce would win. Not this round. 


End file.
